


Something Extra

by Bandearg_Rois



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, I don't know, Kind of literature porn, M/M, coffeeshop!au, though no actual porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 04:50:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bandearg_Rois/pseuds/Bandearg_Rois
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard McCoy has fallen for the kid who bakes his breakfast. Now all he has to do is tell him. Great.</p>
<p>Or, the Chrismukkah fic no one wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Extra

**Author's Note:**

> As an added bonus (not just because I'm late, I promise) there is a mix for this story (sort of), made by yours truly over on 8tracks, which you can access here: http://8tracks.com/roisinalainn/something-extra

The first time Leonard walked into Enterprise, he’d been pointed there by Christine, and he wasn’t actually in that great of a mood, having worked for 36 hours straight. He just wanted a damned sandwich or a bagel, maybe some coffee, and he wanted to sleep. That lasted about thirty seconds. The interior of the small building made it seem even smaller, though they’d managed to cram 10 small round tables into the space, as well as a small couch in front of the working fireplace. The walls were lined with glass front cabinets filled with books, Dean Koontz and S.M. Stirling jumbled in with Nora Roberts and Danielle Steele, as if whoever shelved them didn’t care about where they went. The whole place had the feel of his mama’s kitchen back in Georgia, even though it didn’t look anything like it.

If anything, the place looked like an eccentric library with a tiny counter, and Leonard almost walked right back out again. Then he got a better look at the man behind the counter. Jim Kirk wasn’t very tall, but he seemed to fill the small space with his presence, laughing at something one of the customers said. Leonard wanted to be the cause of that laugh from that first day, and the feeling only got stronger as time went on. He found out that Jim was getting his Master’s in Mechanical Engineering at Berkeley, which was interesting enough to him that they never ran out of things to talk about.

Jim even made him sandwiches, things that were definitely his favorites, and he was pretty sure that Jim wasn’t supposed to be making them in the first place, let alone only charging him a couple of dollars for an entire meal. He didn’t say anything, though, grateful that he could go to one place and get everything he needed after a long shift. He started coming in even on his days off, digging into the various cabinets looking for anything that was interesting. He ended up finding his interests in the cabinet closest to the counter, filled with books by Jane Austen and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Charles Dickens and H.G. Wells. 

It was fun to flirt with Jim, sharing stories about disgruntled coworkers and classmates as well as difficult and downright bizarre patients (at least in Leonard’s case) alongside childhood favorites, from food to movies. He felt like he knew so much about Jim, that Jim knew so much about him, that it threw him for a loop when Christine brought up Christmas while they were both at her station.

“So, what’re you doing for the holiday?” she asked him, and he looked at her, startled. 

“I don’t know, Skyping my mom, vegging out, why?” He had plenty of time to think of things to do, he didn’t need his nosy nurse asking questions.

“Because it’s next week?” she asked, pointing at the obnoxiously large Christmas-themed calendar on the wall underneath the cabinets. He swore under his breath as he flipped a chart open. “What’s wrong, Leonard? Forgot someone in your plans for Christmas?”

“He’s Jewish,” he replied automatically, and scowled harder when she grinned. “What?”

“So tomorrow’s the first night of Hanukah, what are you getting him?”

“I have no idea!” he finally said, slapping the chart down on the counter, unable to focus. 

“Well, all our patients are stable, your shift technically ended an hour ago; why don’t you head out and do some thinking. It’s just now dinner time, in case you’re interested.” He knew he looked ridiculous, scowling at a tiny blonde woman wearing reindeer antlers, but he couldn’t help it. 

“Watch your tone, Nurse Chapel,” he growled, trying to sound threatening. Christine, far from being scared, practically beamed at him, making his mood worse. “Stop that.”

“Have a good rest of your day,” she sang as she moved toward a call light down the hallway. He waved a hand at her back irritably, before reviewing the rest of his charts and getting ready to go. He pulled on his coat, December in San Francisco not precisely cold, but still feeling too cool for his southern blood. When he looked out the window, he sighed. He’d forgotten his umbrella (again) and of course, it was raining.

He hopped on the first train he saw, only realizing it was the one that had a stop near Enterprise after two stops had passed, along with his connecting stop. He gave up on avoiding the bakery, braving the cold rain to stomp his way into the building. Jim wasn’t there, since he had class in the evenings most days, but Nyota, the regular evening girl, smiled at him in sympathy. He grunted and gestured, hoping he’d been in enough that she knew his usual order without much prompting – he really just wanted coffee and to go home and figure something out for Jim. 

“Extra-large half decaf, with enough sugar to take down a bear?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. He nodded, and she grinned. “Since you look so miserable, it’s on the house,” she noted when he started to pull his wallet out. He was grateful; he wasn’t quite soaked through, but coffee was a godsend. While she mixed his drink, he wandered over to the cabinet he usually pulled his books from. “Here’s your coffee, Doc. Find anything interesting in Jim’s bookcase?” He turned with a raised eyebrow. “Every employee gets a bookcase after they’ve been here 3 months. We get to put whatever we want in it, and if there’s anything anyone else has that fits whatever theme they have, we bring it in. That’s Jim’s.” 

The old books took on a new light for Leonard, who looked at all of the obviously well-used hardbacks on the shelves – Jim had read all of them, probably – noting that there were only a handful of books that looked like they’d spent a lot of time in a kitchen. There were two Sherlock Holmes books, Lost World, and a Rudyard Kipling anthology. There were books from other places, but it seemed that Jim liked the British and Irish authors the most. It gave him ideas, but he wasn’t that great at the shopping thing, so he wasn’t entirely sure that anything he could get for Jim would be to the other man’s taste. Knowing him, he’d get the blond man a book of limericks or something and it would be horrible.

On the other hand, Jim had a strange sense of humor, so maybe dirty limericks was the way to go. He shook his head and grabbed a Dickens anthology, carefully wiping at the icing on the spine, sitting down with the coffee. He hadn’t meant to stick around, hell he never did, but he always found himself sitting down and reading something, even if it was just the newspaper. The place was a balm to his nerves, soothing his temper in a way that his tiny cold apartment never did. He soon found that his cup was empty and his jacket was merely damp, but he was in the middle of ‘A Christmas Carol’ and berating himself for finding something in common with Scrooge. He finally stood, reaching for one of the scraps of paper that were left on the tables, scribbling his name in barely legible handwriting and settling it as a bookmark, returning the book to its shelf.

“Have a good night,” Nyota called as he tossed his cup in the trash and waved. He steeled himself and made a run to the BART station, only getting a little more wet in the process. He made a note to Google some authors and see if he could find something Jim didn’t already have. It was better than the alternative, which was listening to Christine bitch at him for months. It also had the added benefit of endearing himself to the entire café staff. He settled into his seat and slid his earbuds in, listening to a song he’d heard in Enterprise before the Christmas season ruined their mostly-Indie reputation for a month.

While he listened, he thought about just going to a store, to see what they had, what jumped out at him, and he looked up at the route map, trying to decide where to go. He got off at the stop leading to the shopping center near his place, knowing that something would be open, and he wasn’t disappointed. There was a small bookshop in the strip that was one of those ‘half-price’ places, and he felt confident he could find something. When he walked in, the little bell made him think of the general store back in Georgia, and he was smiling even before he reached the classic literature section, which was its own wall.

He found Oscar Wilde, and Alexandre Dumas, and a curious collection of female writers that he’d never heard of, though he’d definitely read at least one of the novels. He picked up all of them, and a couple more to make 8, before realizing that he hadn’t brought enough money with him. He cursed and started to sort through them, trying to decide which one to give Jim first. He could always come back. 

“May I help you?” a soft, almost monotone voice asked, and he looked up to see a very strange looking man peering around the corner of a shelf.

“Um, not really, kind of, I don’t know.” He fumbled and almost dropped all 8 books, the man almost diving to help catch them.

“Actually, yeah. I’m trying to figure out which one of these should be first.”

“First to read?” the man asked, eyebrow ratcheting up to meet the straight line of his bangs. 

“No. Well, maybe. I’m getting Hanukkah presents for a friend of mine, and tomorrow’s the first night.”

“Ah. Of course, well, perhaps you would like to bring them to the front, we can sort something out.” The man turned on his heel and Len followed, feeling a little out of his depth. Once they reached the front counter, which was actually an old desk, the man motioned for him to put them down. “Your friend is into the classics, I suppose.” Somehow, the words were infused with disdain, even though the tone never changed enough to indicate such a shift, and Len gritted his teeth.

“He likes things like Sherlock and Lost World, some poetry, but he likes almost anything from the 19th century,” Len said, trying to keep his voice even. The man stepped behind the counter and pulled a large hardback off the shelf, blowing a little bit of dust off the cover. “What’s that?” he asked, flinching at the baleful look the other man threw his way. The man took The Count of Monte Cristo off the counter and put the larger book in its place. 

“It is a collection of Dumas’s works,” the man finally said. “It would work well as the larger gift for the first night, if your friend goes by that edict.”

“How much is it?” Len asked, suddenly wary. Books behind counters were rarely cheap, even in a secondhand shop like this.

“Twenty-five. The lot is fifty.” 

“How late are you open?” He could go to the ATM by his house and pull the money out, if the man was going to be open another hour.

“If you are thinking of getting money out, we accept cards,” he answered, and Len sighed.

“I don’t carry cards, only enough cash to get me through the day. Will you be open long enough for me to get it and come back?” He didn’t even have enough for the collection, which was kind of stupid of him. The man looked at him strangely for a moment, and then pulled his receipt book toward him, writing something out before tearing one off and sliding it and the collection into a bag.

“You will be returning for the others. Pay for this then,” he said, handing the bag to Len. 

“But, I-“

“You will be returning. And if you do not, it is only money. Now, unless there is anything else you need, I’d like to close for the evening.” Len glanced at the clock on the wall and did a double-take. He’d been staring at the books for close to an hour, which explained why the man had sought him out in the first place.

“I am so sorry, Mr….”

“Spock. My name is Spock. It is fine. Happy Hanukkah, Mr….”

“McCoy. Leonard McCoy.” Len shifted the bag and held out a hand to shake, which was stared at, so he backed toward the door. 

“Thank you so much, Mr. Spock.”

“Think nothing of it, Mr. McCoy.” As soon as Len stepped out of the door, the lock clicked and the sign turned over.

Len made sure the bag was closed up enough to keep the book dry before dashing back into the rain, hoping that he’d make it home before he got pneumonia. He didn’t bother with the train; he was close enough that waiting on the damned thing would take longer than sprinting. When he made it to his building, though, he wished he’d maybe thought to stop in at Target and buy an umbrella, but hindsight and all that. He cursed when he realized that he’d forgotten wrapping paper, and resolved to stop in the morning for a blue and white bag or something. He put the book on the table next to his front door, putting his keys on top of it so he wouldn’t forget it in the morning, before tossing a frozen meal into the microwave and going to take a shower.

The next morning, he dressed a little better than he usually did for a shift at the hospital, grabbing the book and almost forgetting to get a gift bag for it before he stepped into Enterprise. Jim wasn’t behind the counter, but the music piping over the loudspeakers also wasn’t the obnoxious Christmas music that usually made him want to throw something. It was Jim’s holiday mix, instrumental versions and classical music that made him think of hot chocolate and snowfall more than anything that talked about snow really could. It meant Jim was in the back, and Len almost turned right back around and walked out. Unfortunately, the door had a little bell and before he could make up his mind to run, Jim stepped out of the kitchen, wiping his floury hands on a towel that he tossed over his shoulder.

“Len!” he said, grin lighting up his face, though something shifted when he saw the bag in Len’s hand. Len shook himself and stepped up to the counter.

“Mornin, Jim,” he said quietly. “Can I get my usual?”

“Sure thing, Len. Office Secret Santa?” he added, motioning to the bag that Len had set down next to the register.

“Um, no, well, I don’t know, I forgot if they said anything, I—This is for you.”

“For me?”

“Yeah, I know it’s early, and all, but I won’t be seeing you tonight, so…. Happy Hanukkah.” Jim stopped still, and Len thought for a moment that he’d done something wrong.

“Len, I… Thank you.” Len swallowed at the naked emotion on Jim’s face.

“You haven’t even opened it yet, how would you know to thank me?” he spluttered finally, and Jim grinned, pulling the bag toward him and tugging at the tissue paper. When the book was revealed, he stopped, head tilted, and then smiled softly, pulling it out. 

“Well?”

“… It’s perfect, Len. Thank you so much. I’ve been looking for something like this ever since my copy of Three Musketeers fell apart on me.” Jim turned away, and Len was fairly certain that he wiped away a tear as he started making Len’s coffee. “I didn’t even know you knew I was Jewish.”

"You talked about it when you had to work on Rosh Hashanah,” he replied, feeling stupid. Jim finished his coffee and ducked into the kitchen for his sandwich, a turkey-pastrami on rye that made his mouth water just looking at it. 

“On the house,” Jim said when he pulled out his wallet, and he shook his head, dropping ten dollars into the tip jar. “Have a very good day and Happy Hanukkah, Len.”

Len took a sip of his coffee and tried to screw up his courage to say something else, like how much he liked Jim. Before he could open his mouth, though, the door opened and another customer walked in, robbing him of his chance. So he slipped past the stranger and out into the rather cold morning, glad that it was at least not raining yet, and jumped back on the train to get to the hospital in time for his shift. He made a mental note to glare at Christine extra hard either before, during, and after morning rounds, with a possibility of a repeat for afternoon rounds. It was all her fault, after all.

~*~

Going to the shop after his shift that night was an exercise in patience, since Spock didn’t even acknowledge his presence for a good ten minutes. So Len decided to walk around and see if there was anything interesting in areas other than the classics, which wasn’t likely, but he was open to the idea. By the time he’d nearly rotted his brain reading the back of historical romances, the owner was finally off the phone and putting books on a little cart that Len had never noticed before.

“You returned for the others?” he asked, motioning to a small stack that Len recognized as the books he’d chosen the night before. Len nodded, fidgeting a little, because buying all of them was like a statement. Just because he’d given Jim the one present, he didn’t have to give him the rest, right? His inner voice laughed at him, and Spock raised an eyebrow as if he could hear Len’s inner monologue.

“Yeah, I did. 50 for the lot, you said?” He pulled out his wallet and removed his card, handing it to the man before looking up at the wall behind the desk. There were multiple older books there, most of them looking like first editions, and he cursed himself for not looking to see whether the Dumas collection was one, as well. One particular book caught his eye, a collection of Victor Hugo works. The binding was old, weathered and almost falling apart where it hadn’t been badly repaired. It looked like it had been read a lot, by a lot of people. “How much for the Hugo?”

“75,” the man returned promptly, and Len snorted.

“Bull. The Dumas was in better shape and 50 dollars cheaper.”

“The money is not for the book, but for the restoration. I was not going to restore it if no one wanted to buy it.” Len thought about it  
a moment.

“How long will that take?”

"Too long for it to be a gift for Hanukkah, I am afraid.” Len sighed and shook his head.

“Then no, sorry. I’ll take the ones I already chose.” He paid Spock the 50 dollars and went on his way, darting into Target to get more gift bags and tissue paper. It was a mistake to go in, but he didn’t realize it until he’d been waiting for almost an hour to pay for the damned things. When he finally emerged, it was dark and getting colder, which made for a very uncomfortable walk home.

The next morning was nearly a repeat of the one before, except the sandwich was a different flavor and Len stood around in the café for an extra ten minutes, silently willing the woman dawdling at the counter to just get on with it so he could say his piece. It wasn’t until his phone beeped at him that he realized he was in danger of being late and finally left. It was mildly humiliating to say the least.

He avoided Christine as much as possible, as well as any patients that he didn’t absolutely have to interact with, hiding near the morgue in the gurney storage area, a place he’d found when he was in his first year of residency. He made it until the afternoon lull without having to talk about his non progress with Jim, but he should have known that if Christine let him sulk, she’d make it a million times worse for him when she stopped.

“So, did you kiss him?” she asked gleefully, passing him a cup of the sludge that the hospital passed off as coffee, and he made a face at her, but still took the coffee. “Is he a good kisser?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“I bet he is,” she said, wiggling on the gurney she’d perched on. “You should find out and get back to me.” He shoved the gurney away, making her squawk, and took a sip of his coffee. She wheeled herself back over and he readied a scowl for when she inevitably started talking again. He was pleasantly surprised when she didn’t say anything, pulling an ereader out of her scrub pocket and starting to read.

He finished his coffee and his charts, sighing. “Get it over with,” he said when Christine hadn’t said anything for awhile. 

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked sweetly, putting the reader away and turning to him. He didn’t believe her ‘butter wouldn’t melt’ expression one little bit, and raised an eyebrow at her. “Okay, fine. It’s just kind of sweet, seeing you so hung up on someone, you know? You’re such an asshole usually that it’s interesting to watch.” He balled up his empty cup and threw it at her, grinning meanly when it hit her square in the forehead.

"You can be a real bitch sometimes, you know that? Why can’t you just let me figure all of this out on my own?”

“Because you’re my friend, and as you said, I’m a bitch. But I’ll be nice. You talk to him and let him know how you feel.” He sighed, picking up the discarded cup and playing with it.

“What if…”

“I swear, if you let the ‘what ifs’ decide this for you I will disown you,” she said severely, and he knew she was serious.

“Fine.” He got up and left her there, annoyed at both her and himself, throwing his trash away with far more force than necessary. The rest of his day was just as bad, a little girl throwing up all over his last clean shirt, and an old drunk man throwing up on the scrub shirt he’d grabbed to replace it. He didn’t have time to stop at Enterprise for another cup of coffee after his shift ended, and he threw his bag of dirty shirts into his hamper before collapsing into bed.

The next morning, he barely woke up in time to gather up his gift and give it to Jim before his shift started, and that seemed to set the tone for the next few days. Len didn’t have time to watch Jim open his presents, and couldn’t tell you which book he’d given him each day. By the time the weekend rolled around, he was exhausted and slated to work a 36 hour shift that would last into Christmas morning, which was also the last night of Hanukkah. When he showed up to Enterprise with two gifts, Jim gave him an almost worried look, which didn’t bode well for his day.

“What, do I have something on my face?” he grumbled, and Jim’s almost anxious expression melted a little as he smiled.

“No, you just look a little like death warmed over. You want two cups this morning?”

“Can you just put as much espresso as is allowed by law in my usual? I’m on a 36, won’t get done til Thursday. Hence the presents.” He started to pull out his wallet, but Jim waved him off, passing his marked cup off to Gaila, a girl that usually worked in the afternoons.

“I’ve got you,” Jim said, before looking at the gifts with interest. “Which one is for today?”

“Pick one.” He didn’t mean for it to come out that way, like he didn’t care, so he backpedaled. “Sorry, I just mean I hadn’t really gotten them in any kind of order.” Jim pulled the blue one forward and pulled the tissue paper out, an almost childlike smile on his face. The book wasn’t a classic; it was a physics book that Len had been shown by one of his patients who taught at UC Davis and was visiting the Bay for the holidays, and he had a feeling Jim would like it.

“This is so cool! I’ve been looking for this!” He flipped open the cover and almost squealed when there was an inscription from the teacher in it. “This is amazing, Len!” Len stepped back and blushed, looking anywhere but into those blue eyes. “What about the other one?”

“You can open it tomorrow night, let me know how you like it after,” he said, smiling blandly at Gaila when she handed him his coffee. “Thanks, darlin’. Happy holidays.” He turned back to Jim after taking a sip and wincing, both at the heat and the bitterness of the espresso. Jim gave him a small smile and passed him the sugar jar. “Thanks, darlin’. Really though, it’s however you want to do it,” he continued, stirring the sugar into his cup and taking another sip with a happier sigh. He wished he’d thought to put something in the other book, or in both of them, but it was a little late.

“Okay. I’ll see you on the 26th, though, right?” Jim’s anxious look was back, and Len couldn’t help his smile.

“Definitely.” Another customer entered then, and Jim stowed both books under the counter before waving at Len as he trotted out into the cold on his way to the hell shift.

~*~

When Len left the hospital at ass o’clock on the day after Christmas, a good 16 hours after he was supposed to have gone home, he felt like he couldn’t even see straight. And Enterprise wouldn’t be open for another 3 or 4 hours, which was horrible. He just wanted to see Jim, to talk to him, and maybe (just maybe) kiss him like he’d been wanting to for weeks. He walked home, since it was too early for public transit, and managed to pass Enterprise on his way.

The lights were on, though the sign was still flipped to ‘Closed’, so he looked in for a moment before continuing on his way, seeing no one out in the main store. He sighed as he walked down the block, wishing that Jim had been out unstacking chairs or something, and then turned around. He’d been dancing around it long enough; it was time to actually talk to Jim, at a time they couldn’t be interrupted by other baristas or customers. He knocked on the door, hoping that Jim heard it over the music he usually played while he baked. The door to the kitchen opened and Jim stepped out, face lighting up as he hurried over.

“Len!” Jim said, opening the door quickly after wiping his floury hands on the towel slung over his shoulder. “I didn’t think I’d see you today! Come in, come in!” Len allowed himself to be led inside, the warmth and the smell of fresh-baked bread seeping into his bones.

"I know you’re not open yet,” he said quietly, and Jim just tsked, settling him at the table in the kitchen.

“Don’t worry about it. Just have a seat; I’ll bring you some tea. Your shift was a lot longer than you thought.”

“Yeah… Lost a couple of people, had to do the paperwork.”

“Oh no! Are you okay? Of course you’re not, you had people die on you.” Jim wrapped his arms around his shoulders, and Len leaned into the hold, surprising himself. “Well, I’ll get you some tea and some gingerbread, send you on your way.” Len nodded, straightening as Jim moved toward the hot water and pulled a wrapped package from next to the machine. “I almost forgot. Here. Merry Christmas, even if it’s late.” 

Len took the box with no little trepidation, and started unwrapping it carefully, only to speed up when Jim snorted. It wasn’t like he was going to reuse the paper anyway, after all. Inside the box was a large handmade mug, blue with red and gold melting along the sides, as well as a set of steel bookmarks (http://www.moderngent.com/media/bkmks_all_500.jpg) and something that looked like homemade cocoa mix, as well as a large candy cane. There was another mug, black with his name inscribed on the side, as well as a book titled ‘Enterprise’, which was a giant travel mug, and looked perfect to take to work in the mornings.

“I- Thank you,” he said quietly, tracing his name, obviously handwritten, and pulling out a bookmark that looked like a barrel of monkeys exploded on it. “This is perfect. You didn’t have to get me anything, you know.”

“I know. But I had all this planned out before you started giving me the books, so… There’s something else, in the bottom.” Len ran his hand over the bottom of the box and came up with two gift cards, one for Enterprise and one for that half-price bookshop he’d gotten all of Jim’s books at. “I know it’s not much, but…”

“No, it’s actually perfect. That’s where I got most of your gifts, actually. And a gift card to this place might just save my life.” They weren’t the words he was supposed to be saying, or the words he wanted to say, but he hoped they’d mean something to Jim, who took the travel mug from him and rinsed it out, filling it with hot water and two tea bags.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said, plating a sticky bun half the size of Len’s head and setting it in front of him. Len smiled and took a bite, realizing how hungry he was as he swallowed.

“Amazing, as always,” he commented after he’d eaten half of the giant pastry, smiling as Jim blushed. “That’s a good look on you.” Well, look at that, all it took for him to say something was sleep deprivation and an overabundance of sugar. Who knew?

“What is?” Jim asked, blush deepening.

“The blush. Makes you look even better.” Jim grinned, turning to the mug and pulling the tea bags out before replacing them with two more.

“Thanks? I mean, I don’t usually have friends tell me I look good, but thanks.” Len’s heart almost stopped.

“Is that all we are?” he asked quietly, appetite leaving him in a rush. He started tearing at his roll, making it look like a crazy person had been at it. He kept his eyes on his plate, not wanting to see the look on Jim’s face, the rejection in those eyes.

“Len…” He didn’t look up until Jim tilted his chin up, eyes a little wet. “What do you want us to be?”

Len couldn’t speak; there was no air going over his vocal cords. So he reached up and touched Jim’s face, pulling him down into a kiss. Jim flailed for a moment, and then Len felt his hands settle on his shoulders. The kiss didn’t last very long; he was too tired and the position was too precarious for them to hold it. Jim twisted a little and pressed their foreheads together, though, their breath mingling until – 

“I haven’t brushed my teeth in almost 30 hours,” he whispered. Jim just laughed and pulled away, moving to fix his tea.


End file.
